The Balance
by Escaping Propriety
Summary: Only one option left for him so that he might have his revenge against Balthazar and Veronica.  Find the Prime Morganian and train them to defeat the Prime Merlinian.  Fortunately, for Maxim Horvath, he knows exactly whom to ask.
1. Chapter 1

"I'm so pleased that you finally decided to visit, Maxim. Please give me a moment."

The ground-up feminine voice that travels across the room hits his ears as soon as his feet hit the ground, despite the fact that he was as silent as death itself when he was transporting into the house. A small lamp lights itself instantly in greeting. The sorcerer's black eyes adjust then linger over the living room as he waits for the hostess of the house to make her appearance. White paint covers the walls while seemingly random portraits stare down at him from their cheap frames. Two dark blue sofas face each other in a blunt manner of wanting to share company. These are the only spaces for sitting in the entire room. Nothing else. No television, he sighs in relief. He hates those bloody contraptions. His ears detect no hum of any electronics. Only the water heater and warm air blowing wistfully through the vents.

Deciding that sitting would be the only respectable action to take, the intimidating and extremely tall man starts towards the chaises. His cane makes a muffled tap against the carpet. He freezes at the sound. He had forgotten that he was safe. He didn't need this weapon of choice or the added power of the other sorcerers' amulets that were bound around his cane. With a calm swallow, he sets the small black staff engrained with its mystic ruby against the side of the couch.

Then the exhaustion sets in from the events of the evening.

He had failed. Once again. In everything.

Morgana was dead. The spell for the Rising did not even make it off the ground. As for Veronica, that in itself was an entire matter.

Yet, seeing her is the most memorable part of everything.

A shudder of hurt passes through him as he tries to rip through the details of her in his mind. The expression of sudden shock when she was thrown out of the Grimhold. Her beautiful features as elegant and captivating as they were thousands of years ago when he last saw her. The worn purple dress that was a favorite of hers, how it had always framed her supple frame to perfection and even after all this time, it still does. However, one factor from tonight holds his attention and his heart more than anything else. For a moment, he could see the fondness that once filled her eyes whenever she would greet him; it was there tonight. Only for a moment but that was enough. It was more than enough to last for several more millennia.

"Maxim Horvath."

Taken away from his thoughts, he automatically looks towards the long dark hall where his name was called. The approaching steps are more of a shuffle. A sure sign of decrepit age and then the accompanying thunk of a walker serves only to assure him of his deduction.

"I wasn't sure when you were going to drop by but I knew that you would." The wheeze in her voice heightens when she laughs his name out in fondness, "Oh, Maxim. You don't know how happy I am to see you."

Gradually, she enters the light and in respect of who she is, he stands up straight then kneels without even a glance at her. His mannerism is met with silence and the gentle flop of her cotton candy pink slippers as they enter his field of vision. They stop in front of him, lifting their toes up and down in patience.

"You can rise anytime that you wish."

The mirth in her voice makes him feel even worse. He feels patronized for his show of respect. An annoyance rises through him as he pulls back to his full height and finally sees her.

Dark brown flesh, similar to fresh earth. The coloring though is not smooth with youth but lined with age. What once covered her head were more than likely long tresses of midnight but are now snow-white weeds tied back with a purple scarf. A light blue robe folds over her frail form. Her hands lay crooked and gnarled with green veins against steel grey handles. The shape of her face is a friendly one and he is certain that she was fairly pretty in her youth.

Looking down at her from his massive stance, Maxim nods quietly, "How should I address you?"

The elderly woman waves her hand pleasantly in the air as though wiping away the years between them, "Now, now. None of that. I didn't like the idea of formality between master sorcerers and their apprentices when Merlin was around. And I still don't like it now."

Not knowing how to react, he says nothing and already she ushers him to the sofas while ignoring his attempts at trying to assist her.

"Maxim, I'm old. Not an infant. Don't help. I can get there by myself. Just sit."

The seemingly middle-aged sorcerer decides to not prolong this torture and obeys her command by side-stepping her to take his seat. Only seconds following that, she sits across him in a jaunty manner of a grandmother seeing her favorite grandson.

"However, if we are to be equals in this conversation then I suppose that you will need some way to address me." Her short fingers, somehow through their twisted condition, manipulate the air in perfect gestures of magic until a small circular table of gray and glass appears between them with two cups of tea. As she reaches for her midnight snack, she hums aloud, "Hmmm, you know that over the years, I have had several names. I have been a goddess and a demon to many different peoples all over the world. However, I had never been more pleased then when I had a simple name. One name for everyday as I do now."

Her light brown eyes appear to twinkle when he finally takes his cup from the table, "So, you may refer to me as Iris. Iris Brady."  
>A pause comes over him as he takes in her words, then another when he savors the scent of his tea. It's her special brew. The one that she had used when he first arrived as an apprentice for Merlin. Maxim had never mentioned it but her tea leaves always brewed the greatest cup that he had ever known.<p>

"Yes, I know that you missed this." The cunning in her voice speaks more than her words ever could, "I don't miss anything that runs through your mind. I never have. Not your ideas or your regrets or even Veronica."

"Please, Iris. We do not have to speak about her."

"Maxim, you didn't come here for nothing. You came here for something else and whether you admit it aloud, all of it has to do with that woman," He watches her shake her head in nuisance, "What did I tell you when you first came to my house all those thousands of years ago. Do. Not. Pursue. That. Girl."

His eyebrows crinkle his face up into resignation at the memory of that day. The day when he had first seen his lost love. The day that would determine everything.

Her cup clinks as she tries to set it down through the difficulties of her physical age, "But love is neither logical nor smart. They say that greed is a curse upon mankind and I sometimes have to wonder if, perhaps, the curse is really love. At least, the consequences of loving."

Clearing his throat after a sip of tea, he fills the air with a voice of seriousness to cut through her thoughts, "Morgana is dead. Everything fell through. The Prime Merlinean is being trained by Ba-"

"I know."

His fingers flip in a gesture of agreement over her legendary abilities, "Of course, but what I mean is-"

"You want to know what should be done next." Iris completes his sentence in one swift breath and she gathers another sentence before he can recover from her abruptness, "You want to know where the Prime Morganian is."

No warmth in her tone to make him feel comfortable enough to answer. He knows that she wouldn't harm him or mislead him because of her role in the world and the history of magic. Although, she is now a wizened and kindly old lady; it is only an illusion. She is correct that when she states that she has had numerous aliases. She is old enough to possess so many. Her age doesn't even have a comprehensible number.

As an apprentice, Merlin had told Maxim about this strange being that the old wizard knew as both an ally and an enemy. The magical power that she contains is horrifying. No one, alive or dead, could even gauge that intensity of her talents. But as Merlin put it, _"She is not a means to an end or the end of a means. She is merely a servant to herself. Do not fear her or what she knows, for she does know everything that was, is, and will be. So, with that knowledge, she is, yet is not, as dangerous as can ever be imagined. She is no more than a permanent balance of nature."_

"I will tell you where she is, Maxim. Please quit retreating to thoughts of the past."

His cup follows her onto the surface in front of him, "Iris, will I succeed if I pursue the Prime Morganian?"

"If I tell you that it is a certainty, will you still ask for her?" The matriarch asks quietly.

Maxim Horvath, confused by the question, answers cautiously, "I do not see why a guaranteed victory would deter me from this path."

Stiff limbs cross over each other in a search for warmth as lined lips speak in an all-telling voice, "Because you don't actually want to complete the Rising."

A defensive snarl echoes through the room at her accusation, "Of course, I do! I have spent thousands of years waiting for the moment of finishing that blasted thing and gaining the true power of a Morganian!"

"Oh, hush."

The consistency of gruff from her makes him cease. Iris couldn't be intimidated by anything in existence but she could lose her patience and Maxim craved the knowledge that she held.

Iris purses her lips then holds her hands out over the table, "Look at these."

His glances cover her hands in quaint interest then come back to her with nothing but a silence of wonder at her order.

"You examined them. You determined that they are merely fingers and palms and wrists. Is that not so?"

Unsurely, he agrees with a tip of his head.

Her hands return to her lap and fiddle with her robe while she continues, "That is where you are at in this moment. You followed your plan to its dismal end. You know where your shortcomings are and how they could have been prevented. You have the full knowledge of everything that was and for the moment, what is. I could give you what will be." Iris lifts her chin and levels her stare to his, "You don't want to know how to succeed as a Morganian. You didn't come here for that. You just want to know how get rid of what you are feeling right now."

Unable to hold her falcon-like gaze and the weight of truth that she just placed on him, Maxim falls back into the support of the chair. As expected, she picked him apart until his strength left him. Never has he felt so empty. Just so far from an ounce of passion, whether it is anger, hate or greed. For once in his overly extended life, he felt as though there was nothing to strive for.

"Don't look so disheartened, dear boy."

Nothing comes from him.

In truth, there is a little sadness in the ancient being's face when she examines his stained suit smelling of ash and sweat. As well as the worn shoes and messed hair from battle. Clasping her hands together, she puts everything into motion as she was always meant to do.

"I don't know if Merlin ever told you what I said to him when we first met. He was a young lad at that time. No more than fourteen years. Just a skinny little ruffian with mischief and little else." The clear mutterings cast their own spell on Maxim as her story works itself in his head and fills him images of what was, "I was in my younger form at that time. Maybe no more than five years older than him. I was traveling through that ever so cold country of old Britain when our paths crossed. Of course, I knew that all of this would come to pass. That is why I said what I said"

Maxim sees everything as it was. Dark tattoos are crossed upon a young girl's face as she crosses steep rivers and treacherous valleys. Her body draped in furs of many strange creatures. The stride of her possessing no fear of anything that would come her way. Even though a red haired pursuer watched her from a distant perch when she passed near his town. A gangly boy running after her with a curious nature in his green eyes. A cold gust from the past entwines Maxim as though he were in the same spring field as they were and the scene plays out.

"_Young Merlin." The girl calls out to him as though they anything but strangers. "Come closer now. I am no monster or changeling. You will not be my supper for tonight."_

_Slowly, the boy circles around her as if she were a dangerous predator, "How do you know my name?"_

"_For my eyes, it is as clear as the freckles on your cheeks,"He does not smile at her instant warmth for him or for her jesting, "Do not be so cold. One day, you will consider yourself my friend which I will always warn is not the wisest approach for you and me."_

"_Are you a sorceress?"_

"_No. Nothing so complicated as that." Suddenly, she points to the gray sky, "You see those clouds? That is what I am."_

_Her hand then gestures to the distant mountains in the north, "And I am those. And this earth that you stand on. Even the air that fills your very lungs."_

_Merlin's youthful skepticism makes him doubtful on her answer, "How is it possible to be all of these things? Would you not be proclaiming yourself as a god of some sort?"_

"_Absolutely not. You are offering a title. I have none. I just am. It's quite simple." Seeing that he has finally stopped his strolling, the brown skinned girl saunters over in short strides, "You have a grand future ahead of you. Enjoy your life, young one and I will be there for much of it. Alas, I want you to remember something."_

_She stops short of an inch from him and takes in his blooming features. Yet, somehow her coal eyes seem to take in more than Merlin can understand. As though she was seeing all that he was and could ever be._

"_We are all merely serving a purpose here on this land. You are a servant in the end. Everyone is in some way. When the time comes and you will need me the most, I will turn my back on you. But, when you do not need me or my involvement, I will be there." A small hand covered in writhing ink snakes itself out of her garments and caresses his pale cheek, "I am not your friend, Merlin. I am not your opponent either. I cherish you just as much as I despise you and what is yet to come. No fear though. You will do great things."_

Maxim's eyes flutter open. He can't think of when his eyelids had grown heavy and closed on him. He breathes slowly then unexpectedly yawns as though he had just awoken from a long nap. The bones in his neck crack as he rotates his head from side to side and tries to revive himself. Strange, he thinks quietly, I feel as though I were sleeping for days.

"You weren't." Iris snaps over his thoughts, "Just a little spell to slow the passing of time. I hope that you feel better. You were unconscious for the equivalent of three nights."

He notices that her clothes are changed. A long coat of purple wool is now her cover. Her feet are uncovered and are just as injured by age as her hands are. Her white hair lays long and thin over her shoulders.

"How much time as actually passed?" Maxim asks in a rested tone.

"Give or take, thirty minutes. It's ok though. Balthazar and the others won't be here for at least three days. And I am not going to tell them anything that will aid them."

Sighing with understanding, Maxim notes that his tea is once again piping hot and has been filled for him. The warm porcelain calms him even more as he ponders over what he had just witnessed. "Why did you show me that specific memory?"

"You always wondered why I never spared Merlin's life."

Instantly, he knows what she's referring to. The evening before the great siege at Merlin's tower. When he and Morgana had consulted Iris on how to defeat Merlin and his other apprentices.

"Merlin knew that one day I would lead to his destruction and he accepted it. He just didn't know how all of it was to come." Her revelation is one of fondness and amiability, "Even Balthazar and Veronica knew that I was not to be trusted. You have the same knowing as them but you understand more than they ever could."

"I am not grasping what you are meaning, Iris."

She stares back at him in thought over his cup of tea as he sips the steaming hot liquid with care. "Balthazar and Veronica always told Merlin that I was a dark force. That I favored the black magic over everything else. Do you remember that?"

He nods and his cup almost bobs with him as he clarifies, "But Merlin claimed that you were neutral."

"In my actions, yes, but my nature does favor the darker side of magic." Iris smiles widely at him, "Did you not ever wonder why you were my favorite apprentice over everyone else? Or why I aided you and Morgana on that night?"

"I have thought over these things before but I have never gotten very far with them. I did not have the time to waste."

"Understandable. I do not favor the Merlinians. Not because of their morals and values or because of their personalities but because they are merely another side of the circle." Fingers form a sort of shape and from their flesh, rises creamy mist copying the same arch. "Alas, they do not see that they are more dangerous to the world then the other side could ever be. I helped you and Morgana because you would have balanced everything. Good would not be good unless it has bad to show it how to be. Both are needed and both must have their own periods of glory."

The circle bends itself to her words and changes color. One side is golden and proud, while the other is arrogant in its mournful purple. It begins to rotate when she lazily twirls her finger in the air.

"But that night failed and everything went to a draw. Until now. We are at the hour of a very promising era in which you will have a great part in." Creepily, Maxim senses that she is doing more than projecting the future. Like she is promising him something that he isn't sure he actually desires.

"The Prime Morganian plays a part in this. I am sure?"

Nodding quickly at his wondering, Iris laughs, "Yes. She does. In fact, you should be getting on your way."

He stands up with full energy, feeling better than he had felt in thousands of years. Maxim moves towards his cane and stretches languidly. His palm encloses over the sm-

"Leave it."

Filled with alarm, he steps away as he were stung by some large insect, "Why? How will I cast anything?"

"Don't be such a baby." Iris wipes out her smoke ring from the air then summons the cane to her. It travels across the space at the speed of bullet yet still gently falls in her open hand, "You are a sorcerer of the 779th degree. You don't need this. Morganian or Merlinian, you don't need these trinkets. They're like training wheels, once you've learned how to conjure than you never forget."

"I know this bu-"

She stands with the grace of a woman a quarter of her age and hold the cane against his chest as though it were a sword, "Believe me. After training the Prime Morganian, you will never need this awkward thing again."

Accepting that it is better to trust her and her advice, he shrugs with resignation.

Feeling the atmosphere in the room die down, Iris stuffs the cane in her pocket. Of course, it disappears without a trace and leaves no hint of even being inside her coat. She pats the side of her wool cloth with satisfaction then heads towards the door at a quickened pace.

"I'll drive."

Maxim doesn't even bother asking if she needs her walker when he follows her through the door.

Fifteen minutes after getting into her blue 1995 Cadillac, Iris pulls in front of a small house that is quite similar to the one that they just left. Dried grass lays in small patches over the yard. A tall tree reaches for the sky in a frozen reach. The house appears apple green with a white screen door and a black van parked in the driveway. The night air is dry and surprisingly heated for being so dark.

Maxim steps onto the sidewalk then waits for Iris to take a hold of the situation. Her door closes swiftly behind her. The old woman walks with purpose and determination. Then a question comes to his mind.

"Iris, where exactly are we?"

She doesn't stop to answer him and just calls over her shoulder, "Nevada."

"In which part?"

"The middle."

"Does it answer to any other name?"

"We're on a reservation, Maxim."

"Which tribe?"

"Does it really matter?" Her tone is impatient now.

Shaking his head in annoyance, he decides to drop it. Better to just get this over with.

Iris abruptly bangs on the door as soon as she reaches it. The wood sounds hollow and unforgiving against her hands but its echoes are certainly traveling through the house.

"Oh, the spell."

She grabs a chain from her neck that was hidden away and opens the silver locket. The feeling of being in a sudden windstorm hit Maxim as time straightens itself out and both of them are put back into the proper zone.

"They wouldn't have heard my knocks for quite awhile if I hadn't remembered." She chuckles roughly then slaps her hand against the wooden threshold once more. Maxim feels his heart beat several times over until a light shines through the front window.

The door is pulled with a slight whine of the hinges and woman peers through the small crack of space before throwing the door completely open.

"Grandma, what are you doing here? It's five in the morning!"

Maxim looks at Iris with instant dislike for keeping information like this from him. Iris, on the other hand, completely looks away and focuses on middle-age woman in front of her.

"Aurelia, everything is fine." The grandmother steps through the doorway and with a gesture of her head commands the grumpy sorcerer to follow. "I need Alexandra and the box. It's time."

The woman's features appear blank as though someone had just shot her and was running away. Then as though nothing had passed, she turns around and marches into the back of the house.

"How exactly are you connected to the Prime Morganian?" Demands Maxim when he is left alone with Iris.

The bent figure breathes in preparation then faces him, "Many years ago, I married a man. Don't look so surprised. I am still flesh and blood, such as you. He was descended from Morgana. My many times over great granddaughter is now our chosen descendant."

"This girl has both your lines?" The possibilities of the Prime Morganian's power multiplies in his mind as he pieces everything together, "That would make her the most powerful sorceress by blood alone. She will easily tear apart that little joke of Balthazar's."

"Well, I haven't exactly been completely honest with you as you've already seen." Timidly quips Iris and tears Maxim's thoughts in half.

"What do you mean?"

"She is not an unskilled sorceress. I am not handing you an untouched apprentice, Maxim." She holds his shoulder with care, "She has been my apprentice for many years now. Training as a 'gray' sorceress so to speak."

He waits for to go on because her mouth hangs open like guppy's, "All you are doing is expanding her education. She is not completely unschooled and therefore, the opportunity for manipulation is not there entirely for you to take."

"Iris, I woul-"

"It's cute that you try to lie but that stopped being cute when you were about fifteen years old." Iris squeezes his shoulder with a knowing grin, "And that time is long past."

"Grandmother Iris?"

A deep feminine voice brings forth a woman from the shadows. Maxim hears it then feels himself being turned around by Iris's arms.

"Alexandra, this is Maxim Horvath. Maxim, this is my granddaughter, Alexandra Brady."


	2. First Impressions and Old Thoughts

I stand in the orange cloth that I normally use as a nightgown and try to work out what is happening. My grandmother's introduction falls flat for me. She always had a bit of laughter in her voice that makes everyone feel giddy, like they should be celebrating something no matter what the situation is. For once, I'm not feeling that right now.

It's more like I'm standing at the edge of great hole that has no bottom. I could walk around it and safely get away from it, or step into it and see what lies down below even if it will destroy me. Something major is approaching in my life and just for this moment, I am frightened at the prospect of it.

Not to mention the large man that towers over my grandmother. He is massive. Thick bodied. I wouldn't label him as being overweight. Just immense. I am not a short woman, like my mom and grandmother but he's big, even against me. I played a little basketball in college in the amateur leagues. I've always stood at a height of 5'10 but somehow, this man dwarfs me and I can feel it.

"Hello."

Finally, I push the greeting forward but I stay behind and only make eye contact once before glancing to my grandmother. In that one small examination of him, I can see something akin to darkness and a thirst for power. Yet, something else stirs beneath him. That cannot be seen. It can only be experienced as a shadow.

This "Maxim Horvath" politely tips his head to me. I copy his movement. Both of us seem like huge giants looming over my tiny grandmother while she studies us with a stiff expression on her face.

"Wonderful. Now, let's be on our way."

She turns around at a speed that I have never witnessed her accomplish and marches through the doorway. I almost trip over my feet when I notice that Grandma Iris is walking without her walker. _What is happening? None of this is makin-_

Her voice reaches through the night, "It will make sense once we go! Grab your stuff and c'mon! Maxim, come wait with me. She has to say goodbye to her mother!"

Without looking directly at him, I can still see his features. They look wild in how they stare at me. Not angry or savage but bewildered and interested. As though I hold something unknown but valuable. I listen to his steps as he moves across the wood floor. It's obvious that he takes great care to be gentle and graceful in his movements because the boards do not creak under his weight as they normally do under mine. Then I hear his feet touch the concrete and I am left in the silence of my house.

I do not understand why a man like him would be with my grandmother. I will admit that she is a strange woman and that she does entertain many questionable characters. But somehow this is different. This is suspicious in an entirely different way.

"Here."

Rough fabric brushes against my arm. My arms take the backpack that is being shoved at me. Suddenly, my mother's face is peering up at mine with something of desperation and sadness.

"Why do I have to leave?" Her demeanor makes me feel like a small child of ten years and not a woman of thirty eight.

Hands hold my shoulders in a frenzied grip while an ominous voice of strength and heartache speak, "Listen to me, Alexandra. You must go with her. There is no time for me to tell you everything."

I cannot believe any of this. All of it is completely crazy.

"You know what your grandmother is." She offers that tidbit up as though it should answer everything, "She's taught you about your line and everything else."

"Mom, I was just a child when she talked about all of that."

I would go on but she has that gleam in her eye. That intense light that mothers tend to get when they want you to shut up. I almost want to challenge her, as I used to when I was a teenager. I want us to fight and rage and storm at each other; then make-up and laugh and cry over how stubborn we both can be. I want to capture that light in her eyes and hold it forever. But as my mother searches through my own face as well, that shine fades.

She brushes my hair out of my face, despite the fact that it always breaks out of its styling. I lean into her warm hand and listen to her with my whole heart.

"You were born to do more than just stay on the rez. You've gone through many trials in your life and you always make it." One tear finally escapes and runs from eyelash to chin in a single line and cuts through my heart, "I want you to take this opportunity and start anew. I want you to live as you were meant to."

More worry comes over me. _What is she talking about?_ I grab her wrist and shake my head as though that will clear all of our troubles away. Her warm skin burns my cold hand. She always remarked on how my hands could never seem to heat up. _Will I never hear her complain about that?_

As my hand touches her skin, a smile comes through all of her sorrow. A sad trinket for me to take and keep. I know that it is all that she has for me. In the end, what can a mother give, except her unyielding devotion to her children?

"Will I ever see you again?" It's a plain question that might make everything more painful but I must ask.

I wait. I hold her tragic glare and hope for her to say yes. _'Yes, I will see you tomorrow,' or 'you'll be back in three days. Grandma just needs you to drive her somewhere.'_ Without realizing it, my breath has been held for the past few seconds.

But she is saying nothing. Instead, her arms wrap around and pull me tight. Much tighter then I have ever been held before. I grab onto her. Taking as much from her as I possibly can. The scent of lavender soap and fabric softener. The texture of her cotton shirt and how it smoothes under my fingers. The sensation of her shoulders forcing me down to her height. This must be it. I will never see her again and this is all that I will take with me.

With a small push, she steps back and wipes her face with the back of her hand, "There's clothes in there and everything else that you'll need. Also, tell Iris that I put the box in there too."

Not understanding what the box is but knowing that I should leave now; I smile.

"Thank you, Mom. Thanks for everything."

Her reaction is just to smile back. Warm, open, and proud. Her hand lightly guides me to the door. Then that rush of having a life-changing event overtakes me when I step off the perch. Everything is going to change.

The tepid air whispers against my skin and tells of what is to come. Voices down the street and across the desert reach me. A coyote is there sniffing around a bush and I feel his heartbeat tap out into the night. The earth pulsates with activities that are taking place thousands of miles away but it hums against my feet.

I don't look back. I just keep stepping forward as the magic that I left behind all those years ago as a young child sweeps into my bloodstream and awakens the line of Morgana.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

_Alexandra_. The name remains floating in his mind even though it was said hours ago. _Alexandra, the Prime Morganian_.

The name does contain somewhat of a ring to it. He must admit to that. However, he didn't expect his apprentice to be so 'mature.' Yes, the word is 'mature.' Her age is much closer to his than he had expected. Something that will either work against him or aid him when teaching her.

He, Maxim Horvath, had been 50 years of age when Merlin had placed the immortality charm on him. It was only supposed to last until Morgana was defeated and that was only supposed to take a few centuries, or at least, that is what his master had told him and the others.

But that is not how it happened. Maxim has not aged a day since that incident. His life did not go according to the plan that was set forth. Additionally, his apprentice is so very different from whom he was hoping to mold into the Prime Morganian.

Maxim lays awake in his sleeping bag, _what a repugnant name,_ and outlines his thoughts on the matter of the woman that is sleeping only 8 feet away. All three of them, Alexandra, Iris, and himself were camped out in some sort of undesirably empty area that the old woman had transported them to. She said driving would take too long and that the sooner she familiarized magic with Alexandra than she would be able to 'get back into the groove faster.' He still has no idea what that means. Of course, the old woman decided that stopping time would be the most logical move and so they were currently sleeping through the dawn which was not helping him at all.

A small crumbling stump of fiery coals stood between all of them with not nearly enough warmth in his opinion. With a wave of her hands, his new apprentice had an entire camp set within seconds. Yet, his mind still reels over how her magic had appeared in its full bloom.

With her first flick from the wrist, the sandy ground itself produced stones for their campfire by rolling the rocks the in from all directions. Maxim recalls the amazement he felt at how the earth itself produced everything that they needed. Water flowed through the air from some far location and filled their cups. The plants cleared themselves from the site and hid the place from anyone that might pass.

Maxim watched the potential that she had. It could be unending and unbreakable. It fascinates him that this is how he is thinking at the moment but on their way here, his thinking was further away than ever.

During their short walk to this location, a tiny valley of sand and brush, he had marched behind the women in silence. Iris spoke not a word until they set camp. However, Maxim noticed that the younger woman hadn't said anything since their departure from her home. Her shoulders had stayed upright and firm when she led them. She wore that irritatingly bright cotton wrap but thankfully, she had brought another one of dark red for more cover.

_She is so very unusual_, hums Maxim in his head as he keeps his eyes closed and tries to forget that the sun is starting to rise. In a way, she reminded him of Veronica. The still that they both possessed. The power of being able to work and continue without a word with nothing but the utmost concentration. Yet, he could see without a doubt that Alexandra carried none of the other characteristics of his lov-

His nostrils flare as he pulls his thoughts away from those sorts of ideas. He doesn't want to think about that right now. Sentiments like this were more than likely what led to his defeat and now, he must stomp them out so that they may never be used against him.

A scuffle. He turns his head and his gaze crosses over the dying fire. Through the thin waves of smoke, he is able to see a restless figure turning in their sleep. His new apprentice, the one who will change everything and succeed where all the rest have failed.

She folds herself over and over again.

He watches the continuous tumble until finally she flops onto her back and remains there. Her long pitch black hair splays carelessly about the black blanket. She made it very clear to both of them that she was not fond of sleeping bags as well. Her diaphragm noticeably puffs up then goes down in exhalation. He calculates the meaning of her obvious frustration and the answer easily surfaces.

Maxim remembers his first evening away from home, after Merlin had shown up unceremoniously at his father's home. Two days before the old wizard's arrival, Maxim had set fire to his father's wheat fields by simply staring too long at a camp spider on the ground. The incident was an accident in itself but his father was quite shaken up by it and ordered Maxim to remain silent about it.

The disturbed revelation on his father's face was so alien to him at that time. As though the man knew something about him as a young boy that he was terribly afraid of. Maxim knew better then to ask about any of it but he would never forget the tense atmosphere of those days.

Merlin's unexpected presence, of course, was a welcome. The sorcerer explained everything to Maxim. He was kind and honest. Yet, what was more comforting was that he understood Maxim's own fear of what he was. Merlin told him after they left his father's house, _"Do not worry about your father missing you. If you wish, I may make it so that he forgets about all of this."_

Initially, Maxim had assumed that he would one day return to his home but then he had searched within his own heart and those knowing eyes of Merlin; from there, he knew that he could never go back. So, he agreed to his master's offer and with a few ancient incantations, his former life was erased.

From his childhood memories, Maxim returns to his examination of his apprentice. Yes, he knows her feelings right now, even if she is as old she is. _This 'Alexandra' must worry about what she is leaving behind and how she can ever go back to any of it._

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

_I can't believe what you said to me…_

The last song that I danced to with my students. One of my freshies chose it for me to choreograph. I liked it because it reminded me of the many times in my life where I experienced that exact same thing.

I openly gawk at the pink sky of dawn from a sandy pit in Death Valley and I wonder about everything outside of the magic world. The action causes so many things to come up inside of me. There's frustration, hurt, and fear at what is to come. Plus, a little heartache at giving up my profession.

I am a professor at a dinky little community college in the middle of Nevada but that's fine. I love it all. I love the students and the 'magic' that comes from exposing people to something that they never imagined.

I've taught dance for 8 years now. My ex-husband thought that I should have been a star or something when he first met me. I was a dance major at Michigan University when I met him. He was a physics major who enjoyed the wild life of campus while I was about as exciting as a stump in a swamp.

I was on scholarship and I always felt a little out of my league when I was in college. I knew that I was good but I always felt that people were pushing me to do better when I was already at my best. Their expectations were just too high. It made me into a social recluse. After all, I couldn't be out every night when I felt that I always had to be at the level of perfection.

So, that's how I lived. Other college students went and hung out, while I practically lived in a dance studio. I did everything that anyone could ever imagine dancing to. Ballet, hip-hop, ballroom, tap, Broadway, modern, Flamenco, and all other cultural dances that could be thought of. It was like oxygen to me and I never held back from any of it.

But my ex-husband caught me by surprise. He was native, like me, and he was cute. It was easy to connect with him because I was so far away from home. The day that he introduced himself, I knew that I liked him. His crooked smile and quick jokes. The way his voice had our rez accent when he said, _"Hey, I'm Jordan Spears. What's your name?"_

Of course, I was shy. When I was at home, I was related to almost everyone which meant that I never really dated unless it was a boy from another rez. So, I just told Jordan my name then went on my way.

In a few weeks, we were dating. He got me to go with him to all the campus events that I never went to. Parties, dances, and everything else. Jordan was able to get me to try everything that I wouldn't before.

Before I know it, I had my first beer. Then my first joint. Then my first binge of anything that I could get my hands on. I knew where it was heading because it's the typical story, _native girl starts partying and messing around, gets knocked-up, then has to quit school and works on the gas station on the reservation for the rest of her life._ Thankfully, I wasn't that interested in it and all of that had scared me to death because of what I had to lose.

I broke up with him after that. I got my grades back up and went back to dancing. Surprisingly, I was much better than before. I think that because I knew how close I was to losing all of it that I knew I had to fight for it then.

Jordan stuck around. I would see him on campus but we never talked to each other. He was dating other girls, so I heard. It was hard for me but I knew that this was better for both of us.

Until one day, he came up and started talking to me. He said that I was right and that he understood. At the end of that conservation, we decided to be friends. Than before I left, he kissed me in a way that he had never done before. It would haunt me for days afterwards.

I always knew that Jordan was an addict when it came to life. He liked drugs and drinking but he could switch from those in a heartbeat to something else. The next addiction that he shared with me was sex.

My lack of experience paralleled his abundance of knowledge when it came to being physical and in a short time, we were back to dating with everything else that comes with that. Well, months passed and I noticed that sign that every girl hopes to never see. I was late. Then after one terrible test, I was confirmed as pregnant.

I cried that entire night. I called my mom in the morning and she was supportive. I thanked every deity that existed for her when she said, _"It's ok. I'm here to help you. You're going to get through this. Me and grandma are here."_

Telling Jordan was much easier than telling Mom. He was ecstatic. He said that the baby would be beautiful like me and have his brains. He also said that he loved me and that he was going to do the right thing. So, within a few weeks, we were married.

It was a small and cheap ceremony but it was done. I knew that my life would much more difficult but I did love him and I knew that I would love that baby so much. Especially, because it was our child and we were going to build a life around it.

We moved off-campus and started renting a place nearby. Jordan was almost finished with his MS so he started looking for a part-time job. I was left with thinking of how I was going to help support us as well.

Being pregnant and dancing at the level that I was at wasn't physically possible. My professors were very disappointed in me. I could see the crumbling ambitions that I never had in their eyes when I told them I had to change my major.

Only one professor was helpful. Professor Jennifer Orme. She was a cultural dance professor who majored in African dance. She was the one who suggested that I become a dance teacher. Her advice changed not only my plans on that day but my life.

Quickly, I spoke to counselors and arranged everything accordingly. Jordan worked at a small market next to our home and I would tutor on the side for extra cash. By time, I hit my 5th month, everything felt fine.

My life didn't fall apart as I feared and I wasn't going to have quit college with Jordan being so close to finishing his degree. I was happy every day. Happy to have the baby inside of me, happy to wake up next to Jordan, and happy that I was able to keep dance in my life. In a way, everything was more perfect than ever before.

But sometimes, life isn't thinking along the same lines as everyone else.

In a single morning, I woke up almost swimming in my own blood and with a throbbing pain that I'll never forget. We went to the hospital and within a few hours, my luck had changed. I had miscarried.

We had a small funeral, just between Jordan and me. My mother and grandmother mourned accordingly to tradition back home in Nevada but we decided to stay at school. The baby wasn't named. Jordan didn't like the idea because of his people's beliefs and I didn't have the strength to disagree.

Surprisingly, we didn't divorce. I can't say why. It just seemed that we had survived some sort of major traumatic event and now we were survivors together. I didn't want to leave him because in a way, life lost its joy and being with him was the closest resemblance to the happiness I felt before.

He finished his schooling and took a position with a law firm. It was supposed to be a surprise to the baby and me that he had double-majored. I had smiled and congratulated him but it was empty. When we made love that night, I felt the lack of want in our arms.

I continued working towards my teaching degree for another semester. After it was officiated, I went to see Prof. Orme one more time. I told her about everything that had happened with the baby and where I was in life. She listened quite intensely then after a few moments, she suggested that I shouldn't stop there.

"_Why not be a professor? You're pretty smart and you'd be at the top. You never know, you might teach the next Chita Rivera or Gregory Hines."_

I knew she was right and that I was capable. I wanted more than just to teach at a high school level. I wanted to inspire experienced dancers as she had done for me. Plus, it had been a long time since I felt that rush of fire in my veins over anything.

It became my new goal. A PhD in cultural studies in dance. By that time, we were a middle-class couple. With his rising position in the firm, we bought a house in a better neighborhood and we could afford my pursuit. Thankfully, Jordan was so embedded in the life of a lawyer that he hardly blinked when I asked. I should have paid more attention to that reaction but I was too relieved at feeling something so strong again.

In time, I had it. I was 29 years old and I was at a doctorate level. I almost wept with happiness that I had gotten so far, despite everything. Immediately, I began scoping out universities and different institutes. During my time in college, of course, my writings were of wonderful quality. A small perk of intellect that I have always been grateful for. It took months of waiting and praying and interviews but finally, I was considered for a short trial at Michigan University.

A few months in my new surroundings had me completely floored. It was hard work and after everything, it was more than I had expected but I was so happy. Completely liberated in a way that I had not been before. Prof. Orme helped me if she had the time but I normally didn't ask her because I despised being seen as 'needy' or 'incompetent.'

Then I came home early one day. I was setting groceries on the kitchen counter. The market was fairly empty so I was able to get home faster than usual. Unfortunately, I was privy to a phone conversation in the den that I was not supposed to hear.

My husband was in love with another. Admittedly, I wasn't surprised at this. When I stopped and truly thought about it, it made perfect sense. We hardly touched each other. Dinner was only a daily update of whether the other person even existed. He was late practically every night and I never questioned the reason behind it.

What did surprise me was how much I didn't care. It didn't hurt to think that another woman was kissing him and taking a tumble with him in bed. I wasn't heartbroken by the idea of him telling her how much he loved her and how much he wanted to leave his wife so that he could be with her. I just felt nothing. I didn't even care who it was.

That same evening as we brushed our teeth and prepared for another uneventful sleep, I completely floored him.

"_You're in love with another woman."_

He said nothing but continued to stare in the mirror and brush.

"_We should get a divorce."_

The mouthwash came next and was quickly deposited into the sink.

"_It's obvious that you love her and should be with her. So, I was thinking. We sell the house and split everything. 50/50. I won't ask for alimony or bring up the affair, if you pay off the rest of my student fees and everything else."_

A tired hand ran through his short black hair as he finally made eye contact with me in a very worn down way, _"That's all you want? After all these years?"_

"_Well, I can hardly give you anything so I can't ask for much. I have a banking account that holds a few thousand. My pay at the college is quite limited and I really miss my family and home. What did you think was going to happen?"_

"_I was scared to ask you. It feels like we haven't really talked in years."_

"_We haven't but honestly, she can probably give you more than I can give to you," _His eyes had become unbearable because he knew what I was referring to, _"Jordan, you always wanted kids and a big family. You know that I am physically unable to give that to you. We were a great couple at 21 but we're almost to our 30's and that's way too young to feel like this. Like we're trapped and we haven't started life yet."_

It had to be done. The next day, he faxed me the divorce papers. It seemed that he'd been planning to ask me this for quite awhile. I had another lawyer skim over them and everything was in agreement as I had asked. The house was put on the market and I sent my resume to the community college in Nevada. Within a few months, I was living with my mom again but I felt more at home there than I had in years living in Michigan.

It's been almost a decade since all of that. Life has been pretty good. I thought that I would just live and be content like that for the rest of my years. I had forgotten about Iris and her 'magic.'

Slowly, I hear those words come back to me from that song and I am reminded that I'm back at my old training grounds. But I worry about that later. For now, I'll just let the sound carry me away like wind upon sand.

_I can't believe what you said to me…_


	3. Forgotten Yearnings

**Chapter Three**

**Forgotten Yearnings**

"Morning! Morning!"

Maxim Horvath opens a single eye. Then closes it just as quickly. It's mid-dawn and the sun couldn't possibly be any brighter. Now, he's blinded and moody. The harsh ground couldn't have been a more uncomfortable place to sleep.

The crone's voice that had awoken him starts up once again, "Now, Maxim, you must get up. Alexandra will get to the top before us and we wouldn't want that."

He turns onto his side and away from the sun. The green sleeping bag that his apprentice had slept in is gone. A small indentation in the earth is the only indication that she was ever there. The sorcerer searches the area around him and sees that everything is cleared up.

The fire. The beds. The brushes around them have even returned to their original places.

"Where is she?"

Iris sits on the ground and wiggles her toes in the soft earth. "She left about an hour ago. Heading for that mountain."

Her arm slips in the air and her finger accentuates the location. His tired eyes remain somewhat closed against the light. Leaning up, his head follows to where she is pointing.

_My god._

The mountain stands high and fierce against the rugged terrain. Snow covers the top in a permanent offering to the heavens. The tree line is quite far and seems quite desolate. But what astounds him is the distance from their current spot to the actual mountain. It had to be miles and miles and miles…

"Why does she need to go there?"

He watches Iris search for an answer before she casually counters, "I have to awaken the magic inside of her."

Confused and slightly bewildered at that statement, he continues his questioning with caution, "I do not believe that I understand you, Iris. She already has her magic. I witnessed it yesterday."

"You witnessed Morgana's blood in Alexandra. Just like the magic that you have. It's almost like the difference between using your arms and using your lungs." She explains in a monotonous manner, "You are aware of your arms and use them naturally to kick and move inside the womb. Your lungs, on the other hand, are not the same. You do not naturally breathe in air with your lungs until you have been exposed to air and are forced to take your first breath.

Thinking carefully over this, Maxim quickly forms an opinion over her words. Gathering the knowledge that he was taught both by Merlin and Morgana, he begins to see an explanation. _If she is already using magic that is solely derived from Morgana's side than that would mean that she is not-_

"Aware of my contribution to her blood," Iris completes his thoughts. "I have to personally bring it out of her if she is to become a powerful sorceress that can utilize both bloods."

"Does she know this?"

The old being shakes her head in a childlike manner, "Nope. She thinks that she gets all of it from me. Does not have a clue about Morgana or Merlin or anything that has happened. I leave it up to you."

"Why have you not told her?"

"Many reasons. Besides, she's going to be your apprentice. I leave it all in your capable hands."

Maxim, suddenly feeling a small bit of disturbance at this new revelation, sits up in his sleeping bag. The ridiculous thing is zipped up and remains taut around him; to his discomfort. Struggling for a moment, his arms lay trapped against his body.

"Why do you use these horrible things?" He protests in dislike.

A giggle touches his ears and the zipper moves down with a buzzing swipe. He glares daggers at Iris as her hand commands the sleeping bag to open. Yet, she continues laughing.

"You better get used to all of this stuff." Her hand falls back down her side once Maxim is freed, "Science and magic go hand in hand. I shouldn't have to remind you of that. Morgana didn't put much stock into science but I know that Merlin did."

"He also thought that humans were quite endearing," Snideness coats his voice as he replies, "Instead of seeing them for the weak and insignificant things that they are."

"Veronica really did a number on you, didn't she?"

His hand gestures with sudden despair at her, "Exactly what does that mean? When did English become such an inconvenient and nonsensical language?"

Iris shrugs noncommittally. "Hey, I'm just trying to get the hang of it all. After today, you and Alexandra are not going to be seeing me for awhile."

Squinting his glance to have a better view of everything, he tries to cease his grumpiness in order to get a proper answer, "Why? Where are you going?"

"You ask an awful lot of questions. I mean, back in the day, you used to be such a know-it-all. I remember being able to ask a question between you, Balthazar, and Veronica; and you would be the first to answer."

"When it pertains to magical theory, Iris." She smiles brightly as he speaks stoutly, "I am not a mind reader, such as you."

The gigantic man stands up and begins to straighten himself out. Smoothing his hair back and stretching widely. The bones in his spine crack, one by one. He hears nothing from his sole companion but he knows that she's watching him.

At his full height, he finally is able to have a proper view of her. Something is happening to her and it's incredible. Her hair is moderately streaked with black and is more gray than white. The once wrinkled skin is only slightly lined at the eyes. Instead of a tiny hunch, her back is straight and strong. She's lost years and quickly becomes more of an enigma in his eyes.

"Yes, I'm getting younger." Snaps Iris with a dramatic roll of her eyes, "And it's all because of Alexandra. Bringing her magic forth is going to require a sacrifice on my part."

"Your age?"

Her long fingers clasp together and she warms her throat up before explaining, "I know that no one in the magic world really knows what I am or where I come from. It's meant to be that way and I'm not about to tell you the truth." She teases him and somehow he does feel disappointment at not knowing her ancient secret, "But I'll share a little more than usual with you because we are amicable with one another."

He blinks in surprise. He had never put that much stock into seeing each other as anything more than allies. Even that sounded odd in his mind but he merely nodded for her to go on.

Both of them knowing that she is aware of his thoughts makes him feel a little more awkward while she just looks at her nails before talking sarcastically, "I can hear everything loud and clear, you know? Well, yeah, you do know. But back to what I was saying before."

Her figure rises in the same purple coat from the night before. She faces the sun in a confident manner as though she were greeting an old friend. The light makes her seem even younger and stronger. With the frozen dawn in front of her, Maxim senses the mystery of her increase.

"My magic goes through cycles. When I am a crone, I am at my most powerful. But when I am in my youthful form, I am at my lowest." She whips back to him and warns him with a pointed finger, "Still quite powerful. Just not as much. But if I give these years to Alexandra than she will be able to use both sides of her line."

A fear rises in Maxim and makes him interrupt her without caution, "Does that mean that she could lose her power?"

Iris looks to the ground in thought. Emotions roll across her face. She appears to be thinking quite hard but her voice comes out as soft and calmed, "You are referring to the dangers of electricity. That's how Morgana was destroyed. Well, Alexandra is a little bit different."

"She is immune to such things?"

"Yes. Except not to me. I can take away my presence from her magic. She would still be able to use Morgana's blood but it would weaken her. Greatly."

His hands hold themselves behind his back and he approaches Iris. Walking with his natural grace, his fingers clench and unclench with pondering. _She is practically indestructible. What a great asset._

"And just so you know, I am not going to take anything away from Alexandra."

The calculating strength that was inside his eyes leaves as he hears the gentle love in her sentence. He had forgotten that his apprentice is Iris's family and that she might care about her granddaughter's affairs. Maxim had only seen Alexandra as a tool in his plan. It makes him feel a little uncomfortable that he is noticing this at all.

(()()()()()())

_The top. Have to make it. Have to get to the top…_

It's my mantra. It's my sole purpose for being alive. The most important mission that I have ever possessed.

Pain breaks along my sides. The miles that I have already traveled mark the bottom of my feet with crud and rock embedded in bloody tissue. My lungs have a dreadful wheeze each time I inhale. The metallic tang of blood runs down the back of my throat. Thighs and calves are screaming in their sharp ache.

I don't know when this strange yearning began. It feels as though I have had it my entire life. I must have been just wasting my days so that I could run up these foothills and make my way to the peak of this mountain. Yes, that is it. I am only fulfilling my destiny.

The terrain is so unkind. I will probably die when I reach the top.

That sounds correct.

But still I must go on…

(()()()()()())

He eyes the cave cautiously. The stony opening is widely jagged like the jaws of some nasty creature. The weathered rocks of the structure are tanned and sharp. Maxim does not like this at all.

The sun is only slightly higher than before. Not quite high noon yet but the giant orb is much closer. This slowing of time makes him uneasy. He is already immortal and now time has become even more idle. He has to wonder where he stands when it comes to this temporal situation.

Iris had gone into the cave earlier. She knew that he had qualms about entering and had suggested that he wait outside. He still did not know why they had to come to the top of this peak. It is not the highest peak and is not ideal for any of the rituals that he could think of.

He kicks the dust in boredom. The particles rise off the ground and then retreat back covering his pinstriped pants. Maxim glares at his dirtied pant legs and pauses in his ministrations.

He has not had the opportunity to properly bathe for the equivalent of four days. The idea disgusts him. He hasn't changed his clothes or combed his hair. Now, from a quick assessment of his current situation, it seems as though he isn't going to be accomplishing any of those chores at any moment in the near future.

A small stream of sweat flows past his folded collar. The heat is rising with the sun. Time might be slowed but it has practically no effect on the temperature and he has been standing here for at least an hour.

All that Iris had said to him was that he is to wait for Alexandra. It was mentioned that the woman might need some aid. He is not exactly sure what help he can be to creatures as powerful as these women.

Iris. Someone that is above human and sorcerer but bound by unknown laws that apply only to her.

Alexandra. She holds certain elements of Iris's power and Morgana's potential.

Maxim has anticipation and hesitation, all in one. He has the opportunity to teach someone who could be the greatest Morgania- No, the greatest sorceress ever in history. She could change the world with a nod of the head, if she so chose to do so. The question that stands out in his psyche is, _will she?_

His ears twitch in detection of a scraping drawl. Steps. One person. Someone that is coming towards this location.

Leaning against the stone wall, Maxim whispers hurriedly, "_Saxus simillimus_."

Magic rolls through him. He feels his body being spread across the rocks. This stealth charm is quite effective. Although, he hasn't used it in over a few hundred years; he has confidence in it.

Maxim had looked over the layout of the mountain while he was waiting. The ground that leads up to here is steep and quite treacherous. Only high grass and rock cover the area. There's no determined path for hiking, which means that this person must have knowledge of this location. He is fairly certain that it is Alexandra but one can never be too prepared.

The slight tumbling beats slow as they approach. His heart pounds slightly faster in opposition. As the stranger comes over the hill though, the sorcerer breathes with ease. It is her.

Still wearing that cotton cloth. Bloodied feet from the distance and scrapes on her legs from falling in exhaustion. Maxim wonders how she was able to make it so far with no shoes or rest. Her hair is soaked in sweat and coated with grit. He hears her choke than watches as she spits out what appears to be blood and mucus. The rasping pants of her lungs make her chest expand to an abnormal size. He watches and waits.

The almond shaped eyes widen when they see the dwelling. Her feet pick up their pace from dragging to an injured jog. It pains him severely to witness her plight. Yes, he was a swordsmen and a warrior at one point in his past but her struggle seems to be much more demanding in some other worldly way. As though she has lost all sense of hurt or strife. He has seen it before though. Wounded animals act in a similar manner when they are cornered and all that they are concerned with is escaping or killing you.

Deciding that it would be wise to show his self, Maxim steps out of the mirage.

Being only a few feet away from his spot, she jumps in surprise. Her hands rise raggedly in confrontation and her stare is wild in its strength. Her lips are cracked in dehydration and do not seem to allow words to pass.

He swallows any encouraging sentiments that he had planned to say. Her determination makes him feel somehow inferior and bothered. He had no great or dangerous ceremony performed when he took up magic and yet she is near the brink of death for this strange ritual. He almost stumbles when he realizes that he already has this much respect for this stoic woman.

Dropping his gaze to the ground, he steps back in answer to her challenge.

Her feet are soiled. Toe nails are tainted with filth and one of the bigger nails is cracked. He notices but does not feel any criticism for it. Instead, he follows the tracks and sees the reddened steps in the earth. His stomach slightly churns at the prospect of walking on such injured limbs.

"Where is she?"

He hadn't been expecting such a tiny whisper of a voice. It is so weak that momentarily he mistakes it for the wind. However, as he looks back at her weary face; he recognizes her as the source.

"She is in there." Maxim responds straightforwardly with not an ounce of attitude, "She is waiting."

The seeking sorceress bends over and holds herself up by leaning forward on her knees with her arms. The act is so sudden that he steps forward preparing to catch her. Looking as though she's going to be ill with exhaustion and unable to move, Maxim asks calmly, "Would you care for some assistance?"

Her head moves side to side in refusal. The dark hair covers her features as she drops her head forward. Her lungs still wheeze and he is quite curious about if she is actually going to make it. Surprising the woman and himself, Maxim suddenly finds his hand touching her bare shoulder.

A grainy film that had been coating her skin slides across the palm of his large hand. He had been expecting to feel the flame of a heated body but instead all he encounters is the clamminess of one ready to collapse. Her frame is shuddering from the burden of holding herself up. It quietly stuns Maxim that he can sense it through touch but cannot see the uncontrollable tremors on the outside of her. Alexandra does not appear to notice his gesture. For a moment, he wonders if this venture has broken the seals of her sanity until he finds her own hand upon his.

Her dry palm lays heavily on the top of his limb. Her fingers do not hold onto him. No pressure is even pushing down upon him. In fact, if he were not standing there and seeing her reach for him; it would not appear as though she were even touching him.

The nails are trimmed short and rimmed with dark crud. Her skin feels heated and cool at once. The dripping sweat from her hand falls onto him and he shivers as a small breeze hits the slickened juncture between them.

"I told you that I don't ne-"

She falls before he could catch her. Her frame collapses solidly into the ground. Legs splayed and arms flung out. The orange wrap is opened and reveals her to him.

Her hipbones jut out. Her body isn't emaciated but he would hardly deem her as fine boned. If anything, the strong abdomen has what one would call "baby fat." It almost gives her a girlish appearance as though she were still a woman of twenty years. Long legs of hard muscle, Maxim observes this from the bloodied feet and all the way up to her lower body.

A small breath rips its way from his mouth and awakens him to what he is doing. He is _admiring_ her. Not in an insulting manner of crude lust or perverseness. Whatever her profession is, it has kept her in remarkable shape. But he is in actual admiration of a female specimen.

Maxim actually feels himself retreat. He steps back and takes himself away from the scene. He gazes across the desert instead and tries to bring back some spark of himself from beyond the ages.

Battles and duels between himself and other sorcerers spring up like acrid fumes from nostalgic wine. Creatures that have long died off trample through his thoughts. Spells and potions that he once studied while in Merlin's care still remain as though he were discussing them with his old master even now. Then that last bit of mental cargo unfurls itself to his mind's eye.

Veronica.

Slowly, Maxim glances back at Alexandra. Collapsed and broken on the hot ground. Her long limbs and dark skin that do not bear any similarity to his beloved. Yet, seeing her in such a delicate and vulnerable state only serves to remind him that he has never seen Veronica as so; and he never will.

Only Balthazar will witness and experience all that he, Maxim Horvath, has fought so long to share in. The love of Veronica. The only woman that has ever enamored him in any fashion.

"Geez, you just going to let her lay there in this heat?" A young woman's voice berates through the sun and boiling temperature.

He sees Iris standing in the craw of the cave. Her face and body radiating even more youth than before. The brown eyes speak with nothing but seriousness and silent respect as she gestures to him to bring Alexandra.

He had expected a reprimand for not covering the woman out of respect. Yet, as he makes eye contact with Iris before she goes back into the dwelling, a small teasing spark is in her smile. As though she knows that he would not take advantage of her granddaughter, Maxim stills feels as though she has caught him in a very inappropriate situation.

But all guilt flows away from inside as he kneels down to collect his student.


End file.
